


Guitar

by tsauergrass



Series: Prompted [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Guitar, M/M, Summer storms, hot chocolate but not mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsauergrass/pseuds/tsauergrass
Summary: Prompted by @blue-lilac-soul on Tumblr: "Guitar"Harry and Draco, a wooden flat, a summer storm, and a guitar.





	Guitar

“No.” Harry laughs faintly and reaches out. “Like this…”

He moves Draco’s crammed fingers to a thin line on the finger board. The string digs into the pads of his fingers, a thick line indented. Draco bends his head to look at his fingers, frowning, trying to straighten them into the correct position.

“Yes. Brush the strings.”

He does. Splattered music spills from the guitar and fades into the sound of falling rain in the background.

“Uh-huh. Then go here…”

Outside, the storm rages on. The sky is dark and bruised, the air warm and damp. Rain drops splatter from the open windows into the flat, bringing in a trace of coolness. A thunder rumbles from the deep, thick clouds, shaking the whole city in its wake.

“Yes!” Harry exclaims. “Now try again!”

Draco adjusts the guitar on his legs and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Then he finds the position with his rigid fingers again.

Harry’s flat is wooden, and old and new at the same time. It’s been on the top of this old apartment in this old neighborhood since forever, but it’s only been Harry’s for six and a half months. From here they oversee the whole city. At night, they can almost touch the stars.

It’s not as if Draco lives here, of course. Three months into their relationship, he doesn’t think it’s appropriate quiet yet.

Draco finishes another round of broken melodies, exhales, and determinedly lifts the guitar strap off his shoulders. Harry laughs and pushes himself up from the floor.

“Take a rest. I’ll make us drinks.”

Harry is…a lot of things. He is messy hair, sun-kissed skin and bright, green eyes. He is thin, white t-shirts and worn-out jeans. He is large grins and strong hands and tender kisses. He is the flutter in Draco’s chest, the knot in his stomach, the little sigh he gives through soft lips. He is running with Draco through heavy rain without umbrellas, laughing and splattering up water along the way. He is pulling Draco up the forbidden staircases that lead to the roof at three in the morning to show him the brightest star on the east of the night sky. He is the wooden guitar that sits on the floor, right now, at his bare feet. Harry had chased after him with that guitar in hand for months with horrible, sappy love songs before Draco finally became his boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Draco can’t help but grin to himself.

He pushes himself up and wanders about. The room is cast in warm hues, wooden planks amber and walls lit faintly golden. Tiny plants and photographs line the wall; a casually folded blanket sits at the end of the bed. He can hear Harry busying in the kitchen, mugs clinking and cupboards opening and closing. Draco walks to the windows and tilts his body out. Cool air embraces him, wet droplets falling onto his hair. He closes his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

He turns. Harry has reappeared with two mugs in hand and a faint smile. Draco shakes his head, a little embarrassed, and makes to close the windows.

“No, leave them open.” Harry sits down on the floor and places the guitar on his lap. He looks up and grins. “Take a seat, will you, princess?”

“Shut up.” Draco blushes, but still he sits at the edge of Harry’s bed. He does feel vaguely like Juliet, but he is not going to say anything.

Harry smiles, and looks down at the guitar.

Then he starts.

Music flows from the guitar like a spring. The notes float, and blossom, tiptoeing on the sound of rain, warm like sunshine and soft like a breeze. It echoes, in the room and somewhere deep within him, and if he listens he can hear his own heartbeat. Harry’s glasses slide down his nose, his eyes hidden behind thick, messy hair. His hands brush the ringing strings, sure. Strong.

Harry looks up and catches Draco’s eyes.

He smiles.

His eyes are green, shining behind his glasses. And at that moment, he is everything Draco ever loved: swaying wheat fields, sunflowers in bloom, the rain hitting fallen petals on the sidewalk. Mint leaves, and dusk. Old books and fresh-baked bread. Harry James Potter. His name, warm and bright like suns on the tip of his tongue.

Draco blushes and smiles back.

In the dark summer storm, the flat lights like a warm candle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
